We Interrupt This Hellscape With Some Art

It’s been a rough summer. It’s been worse than rough. Over and over, as I or a friend have been about to joyfully send out an announcement of a production, a reading, or a fundraiser for a cool project, we’ve hit the pause button. Why? Well, there was the horrific mass shooting in Orlando. And then Istanbul. And then the massive bombing in Iraq. There was the one-two punch of the murders of Alton Sterling and Philando Castile. The shock of Dallas. And through it all, the KKK’s preferred candidate is running his mouth.

So this may come at a bad time.

But I’m still making theater. I’m still going out to see theater. I’m still hanging out with my friends, cooking good meals, seeing my daughter’s dance performances, praising the ceramic… thing produced by a neighbor’s little one at camp, going to the movies, heading out to the City pool, going to the beach, wandering the farmers market with my reusable bags and a pocketful of cash. Horrible things happen and we put our heads in our hands and then we get up and remind our kids to brush their teeth and we get out the door to work to play to live another day.

So I’ll keep sending the announcements and the invitations and the solicitations and the pictures and the stories. We’re all going to be grieving in motion this summer. It’s going to have to be a very active period of mourning. It’s not just salmon that have to swim upstream sometimes. This is a job for an artist, I’m sure of it.

In a basement apartment in Harlem, a small but powerful theatrical experiment is coming to be. Hidden from the street, down a long concrete hall, through a metal door, you find yourself in a surprisingly inviting room, surrounded by your fellow theater artists. You know some of them. You wish you knew the rest. You will by the end of this evening of artist-to-artist midwiving of the new and unknown. But you have to know someone. Lucky you. You know me. Stay tuned…